CHAPTER XXI
THE COMING FIGHT
"Good-morning, Colonel!" cried the two airmen, saluting their chief smartly, as he still sat in the aeroplane, looking not a little crabbed and sour, as he secretly swore at the infamous stretch of ground misnamed an aerodrome; then turned his gaze upon the two airmen who had appealed for assistance.
"Morning! So this is where you young cubs spend your holidays, while the whole world is ramping at me for not catching this infernal brigand. What have you got to say for yourselves?"
Keane was not at all put out by this dour greeting; he knew his chief too well, and admired him accordingly. Merit is not always accompanied by a bland and urbane countenance, neither do brains always accompany a white shirt front.
"I have that to say which will almost make you jump out of your skin, sir," replied Keane, "but we must somehow get these aeroplanes under cover, or properly camouflaged, for the Scorpion may arrive any minute."
"Eh? What's that you say, boy?" exclaimed Tempest, leaping from the fuselage. "The Scorpion?"
"Yes, sir."
"Why, that is the name of your infernal raider, isn't it, Captain Watson?" and here the colonel turned and addressed his passenger, who was none other than the skipper of the air-liner which had been so roughly handled in the Hamadian Desert.
"The same, sir."
"And the professor, Keane? I sent you to track the professor. Have you found him?"
"He is our prisoner, Colonel," and Keane bowed stiffly, and pointed to the half-hidden hangar, where the two prisoners, who were now partly roused, had been safely secured.
An exclamation of pleasure and surprise broke from this dour-looking man when he heard this news, and his face became wreathed with smiles as he advanced to both Keane and Sharpe, shook them warmly by the hand, and said:–
"Thank you, my boys; I knew if it could be done you would do it, though I could ill spare you for the job. Yesterday my reputation was in shreds; I am to be charged with inefficiency, and a public enquiry is to be held. But you two wolf cubs have re-established my character; I can never thank you enough. Now lead on, show us this evil-minded genius! Professor Verne here, who has come in the second Bristol, with Captain Hooper, is anxious to see him. He may redeem him yet from the error of his ways, and it is vital that this secret of his should be in other and better hands, else it will always be a danger to the public."
So, whilst the party were conducted indoors, and shown the marvels of the modern house of alchemy, the two professors were introduced, and began a series of disputations, very embittered at first, as the German, though relieved of his bonds, and made as comfortable as the circumstances would permit, resolutely refused to give any particulars of his discovery, or even to display the slightest amiability towards his distinguished visitor, though they were not unknown to each other, and had even studied at Heidelberg together in their younger days.
Meanwhile, all possible steps were taken to prepare for the possible arrival of the Scorpion. The Bristol machines, after being carefully stowed away in a gap between the trees, were so camouflaged by branches of pine and larch that they presented but a very indistinct object from the air, and, unless their presence were known, might easily remain unobserved.
After some time had been spent in examining the highly developed and intricate mechanism of the devil's workshop, as the place was now called, the Commissioner suddenly turned upon his chief mentor, and said:–
"By the way, Keane, have you discovered any drawings or designs of this wonderful aeroplane? I don't see any amongst this pile of papers, and the professor does not seem inclined to help us at all."
"No, sir. We have searched the place carefully, but we have found nothing. Part of the machine could certainly be reconstructed from those spares, but all the important parts are missing. I have an overwhelming curiosity to see the machine, though, and hope that I may not have this pleasure much longer delayed."
"Then we have nothing but these photographs," returned the captain.
"Photographs?" echoed Keane.
"Yes. Why, I forgot to tell you in the bewilderment and excitement of the last hour, that Captain Watson here managed to secure three snapshots of the raider in mid-air, whilst his airship was being attacked."
"It was the boy Gadget who secured them, sir," interposed the air-skipper, anxious to give credit where credit was due.
"Oh, yes, Keane, I ought to say that it was a smart little beggar called Gadget, a stowaway, who really secured the photographs, and hid them away from the brigand. We must see that the little chap is properly rewarded when we return."
"Let me see the pictures, sir," requested Keane, eager to get some idea of his future opponent.
"Here they are. I have had them developed and enlarged. They should be extremely useful to us, as we shall shortly have to encounter this Sultan Selim, Air King of the Hamadian Desert, the world's greatest bandit, who had the audacity to send me this document by the captain."
And here the colonel, having retailed the whole story of the fight in the desert, showed the brigand's letter, which had been brought to London the previous day by the fast aeroplane which had carried the skipper of the air-liner.
Keane turned in amazement from the clear photographs of the phantom-bird to the brief, audacious letter of the phantom airman, and read as follows:–
"To Colonel Tempest, D.S.O., M.C.,
Commissioner of Aerial Police, Scotland Yard, London, W.C.
"Greetings from Sultan Selim, Air King of the Hamadian Desert. I regret to inform you that of late there has been a serious increase of aerial crime in these regions. The frequent passing of large airships containing mails and other commodities, without due payment of tribute to my customs officials, is a serious infringement of the laws of my dominion. This action not only imperils the liberties of small communities, but is also a crafty form of aerial brigandage, inasmuch as it defrauds my exchequer of its just and equitable revenue. This practice must cease forthwith, and I have taken steps to-day which, in my opinion, will render it unwise for this shameful trespass to continue. The bearer of this letter will give you further details of the action which I have been compelled to take on behalf of my subjects. Your five missing scouts will be found between the wells of Nefud and the Hedjaz coast. I have destroyed their machines as a salutary warning to future violaters of these my dominions."
Keane could scarcely restrain a smile when he laid down this wily, half-humorous, half-threatening epistolary from the aerial pirate.
"What do you think of it?" asked the colonel.
"It's a topping letter, sir, but I think he's trying hard to be funny, this von Spitzer, as you call him. A German with a sense of humour, sir, that's the best way to regard him," replied the airman.
"Humour indeed!" rasped out the colonel, becoming ruffled. "It's confounded impudence, and worse, when you remember that, apart from the damage to the airship, which is considerable, there is a net loss of specie and other valuables–to wit, the Maharajah's jewels–which is estimated at a quarter of a million sterling. I only hope and pray that we may encounter and waylay this bandit before he does any more damage. The deuce only knows what he'll do next, or where he'll go."
"Ireland is to be the scene of his next adventure, sir," remarked Keane.
"Ireland?"
"Yes, sir."
"Are you sure?"
"I heard the professor say so. They are to work hand in hand with the revolutionists there, and stir up strife which will make that unhappy land a still greater thorn in the side of Great Britain."
"Just what I feared!" exclaimed the now irate commissioner. "That explains partly those mysterious messages and rumours floating about Dingle Bay, and unfortunately I have had to withdraw nearly all the aerial police from that quarter to send them out east."
"You might as well recall them, sir."
"Why?"
"The raider has left the Hamadian Desert by this time, and is in hiding somewhere, but will call here on his way to Ireland."
"H'm! We're being thoroughly fooled, and if you hadn't found this demon's nest I should have gone mad. At any rate I should have been compelled to resign my post."
"Still, public opinion had to be satisfied, and you sent the patrols where the public demanded that they should be sent. Besides, if you recall them now, this raider will probably pick up your messages and change his tactics. I can tell you this, Colonel, that while he can get his necessary supplies of uranis, and a few extra spares from the workshop here, this von Spitzer intends to carry out his mad policy of destroying the civilized world by piecemeal. It is all part of a great plan to save Germany from the evil consequences of the Peace terms. But, whilst we hold this citadel, and retain these two men captive, his activities are limited to his present supply of this secret element–uranis."
The colonel swore under his breath, and went to examine the prisoners, to make sure that there was no chance of their escaping, for he felt the truth of Keane's words. He now felt grateful that the airman had not responded to the message for his recall, although it had amounted to a serious breach of discipline.
"Ah, well," he said at length, "it only remains to capture this raider, and the whole system of their clever and daring attempt to convulse the Allies, break up their international system of mail transit, stop the intercourse of civilized nations, and cause a world revolution–all these things will fail."
So their efforts were redoubled to make preparations to capture the wonder 'plane, should it descend on the aerodrome. A couple of machine guns were found, and mounted, under the charge of Sharpe and Captain Hooper, though the skipper of the airliner pointed out that the Scorpion carried bullet-proof armour.
"You will need to hit her in a vital spot," he said, "so that your first burst may be your last, or she will be up again like a helicopter."
"Then we must have the two Bristols ready," urged the colonel, "though it's a deuce of a hole to get out of with this new type of a Bristol Fighter."
"And the petrol, sir?" asked Keane, who, was rather anxious on this point, for he hoped that the Scorpion would become his victim in the coming air fight.
"There may be sufficient for another two hours, certainly not more."
"That means unless the Scorpion chooses to stay and fight, she'll simply leave us."
"Von Spitzer will fight unless I stop him!" called out the professor from behind the curtains, where he was confined under the charge of his colleague of other days, for he had been listening to the conversation.
"So much the better!" replied Keane, tartly.
"And when the fight is over there won't be many of you left alive to tell the story," came the rejoinder.
CHAPTER XXII
AN AERIAL DUEL
"Message from the Scorpion, sir!" cried Keane, a little before midday, from the little key-board where he had been patiently waiting for the last hour.
"Good! What does the brigand say?" asked Tempest.
"Expects to be here within an hour."
"Then we haven't a moment to lose," replied the colonel. "At the same time, I am glad we have had this message, for to be forewarned is to be fore-armed."
Then, turning to Keane, whom he knew to be his best and most brilliant pilot, he said, "Where would you like to be stationed, boy?"
A sudden gleam came into the youth's eyes, for he saw that his chance had come.
"Let me have all the spare petrol from the other machine, and let me get up above the clouds in that new No. 7 Bristol Fighter which you brought over, sir."
"I'm afraid it means certain death for you, my lad," replied the chief, after a pause, unwilling to permit the youth to take such unknown risks, and yet still more unwilling to deny him his request. "This Scorpion, according to Captain Watson, must be some stunting machine."
"I am willing to take the risks, sir," replied Keane. "It is not my first fight with a Hun."
"Don't I know it, boy!" replied the other, gazing with fond admiration into the frank and pleasing face of the pilot. "The ribbons which you gained speak for themselves, but they don't tell half the story. Don't I remember the morning when you went over the line by yourself, and encountered seven enemy machines, how you fought with them for an hour and brought five of them down, chased the others till your machine threatened to break up, then turned and staggered home with your wings shot to ribbons?" and the colonel fondly patted the youth's shoulder.
"Then let me go, sir. The brigand will be not a little confounded to find himself attacked both from the ground and the air at the same time."
"You shall go!" said the colonel after another pause. "Will you take a gunner with you?"
"No, sir. I would rather go alone."
And while the petrol was drawn off from the other machine, No. 7 was brought out, filled up, and tested, ready to start at a moment's notice. The Vickers gun, fixed forward to fire through the propeller, was carefully examined, and several drums of the new armour-piercing bullets placed in position. Another moment was given to the alignment of the gun-sight, a matter of supreme importance in an aerial duel like this one promised to be, for the slightest error in this respect would be like courting disaster.
Ten minutes later the signal was given to stand clear, the colonel himself swung the propeller, and, instantly, the powerful 350 H.P. Rolls-Royce burst into life with a crackle and a roar, and, when the chocks were withdrawn, the Bristol dashed across the ground, leapt into the air at sixty yards, and by a steep climb just cleared the tops of the trees on the edge of the forest.
"What are his chances, Colonel?" asked Captain Hooper.
The chief shook his head as though doubtful of the result, then, after watching the machine for a moment, as it climbed in rapid spirals up into the clouds which half covered the sky at four thousand feet, he said:–
"There is no pilot aboard the Scorpion, or any other machine for that matter, who can hold a candle to Keane, but–it is the amazing speed and climbing powers of the other machine that I fear. Still, it will be some fight, and if we fail to trap the brigand down here, well, it is just possible, despite his disadvantages, that Keane may bring the rascal down. He'll have to keep well out of sight, though, and run at less than half-throttle behind that cloud bank till the moment comes to strike. And now to stations, all of you, and keep well out of sight. Professor Verne, I am afraid you will have to take charge of the two prisoners. Don't let them get away for heaven's sake. You must shoot them first."
"I'll take care of them, Colonel," replied the eminent man, "though it is a somewhat unusual occupation for me."
"Needs must when the devil drives, Professor! I told you it would be some desperate adventure. Have you had any luck with that evil genius, yet?"
"Not the slightest, so far. He is prejudiced against the English mind, and is secretly rejoicing over the expected arrival of the Scorpion."
"Tell him from me, Professor, that if he attempts to escape, I shall shoot both him and his accomplice without the slightest compunction," said the colonel, as he turned away to re-examine all his defensive posts, and to alter the position of one of the machine guns, which had been entrusted to Captain Sharpe.
Fifteen minutes passed away, and the Bristol, hidden away behind the cloud bank, kept its engine well-throttled down, lest the roar of the powerful motor should reveal its presence, when, suddenly, from one of the watchers, the cry arose:–
"Aeroplane approaching from the south-east."
"Is it the Scorpion, Captain Watson?" the colonel asked, as soon as the machine had been located.
"Yes, it is the same brigand, sir."
Then, with amazement bordering on the supernatural, the little garrison saw the Scorpion moving across the sky at a miraculous speed, and making directly for the secret aerodrome. Once or twice it circled around at three thousand feet, then dived a clean two thousand five hundred upon its objective, silently, like a mysterious phantom bird. At five hundred feet it flattened out, rode gaily above the tree tops, then swooping like a falcon, once more touched the ground lightly, and came to rest within thirty yards of the secret hangar.
"Haende in die hohe!" cried Colonel Tempest, stepping out into the open, and confronting the visitors with a couple of revolvers, as they prepared to leap from the armoured conning-tower.
"Ach Himmel! We are betrayed!" cried Spitzer. "The verdammt English have captured the aerodrome."
Without thought of surrender the brigands tumbled swiftly back into the armoured cell, just as a shower of bullets from both revolvers swept the upper surface of the cockpit.
"Fire!" shouted Tempest, stepping back, as the daring bandits, regardless of the danger, started the propellers once more by means of the self-starting knob, within the conning-tower.
And the next instant, even as the machine turned and raced for safety, a terrific hail of bullets from the two machine guns swept the Scorpion from stem to stern. One of her machine guns was swept from its mountings, and it is believed that one at least of her crew was wounded, probably by the Colonel's revolver shots, but as for surrender, the pirates would have none of it, as, apparently unhurt in any vital spot, the Scorpion recrossed the aerodrome, staggering once or twice under the fierce welter of bullets, managed to leave the ground, and sail over the tree tops out of immediate range.
"Confound it! She's absolutely bullet-proof!" shouted the colonel, who was furious at his failure, for his object had been to capture the machine and its crew wholesale, because of its valuable secrets.
"We shall see no more of her!" exclaimed Captain Hooper.
"Just wait a moment," said the skipper of the air-liner. "She'll have something to say presently. You don't know these infernal brigands."
The last speaker was right, for a moment later the infuriated Spitzer, sweeping round at a frightful speed, swooped down upon the little hangar, where he presumed the English were in possession, swept the place with a burst of machine gun fire from his remaining gun, then dropped a bomb filled with high explosive right into the middle of the structure; whilst he, himself, was screened by the trees from the enemy's fire.
The roar of the explosion was deafening, and several trees in the vicinity of the workshop were blown to fragments, whilst the workshop was now a tangled mass of wreckage. It was also burning furiously, and a thick pall of dense smoke already hung over the spot.
"The professor!–we must save him!" cried Tempest, who was already limping from a bomb splinter which had pierced his leg.
Captain Watson ran to help him, but the two machine gunners, Sharpe and Hooper, stuck to their posts ready for the next attack, which they knew would not be long delayed, for Spitzer, during his last circuit, had marked the position of the two machine gun posts.
As the rescuers hastened to the assistance of the prisoners, they came upon Professor Verne, bleeding from the hands and face, dragging the prostrate form of the German from amid the burning wreckage.
"Ah, you are wounded?" cried the colonel.
"It is nothing," replied the other. "See to the mechanic. I fear he is killed, poor fellow, by his own countrymen."
It was so; his mangled form was found buried under the débris of the workshop. The German professor and his rescuer were both helped to safety; then the battle began again.
"Here comes the Scorpion!" shouted Captain Watson. "Look out there!" and instantly the air resounded with the sharp, short crackle of the air brigand's gun–
"Rep-r-r-r-r-r–!" as the raider swept the machine gun posts.
At this very instant, however, the sound of whistling wires came suddenly from overhead, as something swooped down from the dizzy heights upon the attacker. Then the sharp crackle of a Vickers gun rent the air, as, in a headlong dive of two thousand feet, the Bristol Fighter hurtled down, spitting fire through the whirling propeller, and driving its quarry almost to the ground by its unexpected onslaught.
By a miracle almost, the Scorpion escaped a terrible crash, flattening out within two feet of the ground in the middle of the glade, then started its upward climb to out-manoeuvre its new opponent, for the rest of this terrific combat was confined to the air.
The little garrison below came out to see this thrilling spectacle, and even the wounded German raised himself to watch the Scorpion, as he expected, give its coup de grâce to its clumsy opponent. The fight now was for altitude, dead angles, and the blind side of each opponent, but more especially for altitude, for this is the equivalent in an aerial duel of the windward position, in the days of the old frigates.
Once, after climbing on the turn, the two machines approached each other dead on, and each opened a burst of fire simultaneously on its opponent. Carl, the scout pilot, was handling the solitary gun, and, if his aim had been more steady, that would have marked the finish of the fight. On the other hand Keane's bullets pattered with unerring aim upon the armoured conning-tower, but with little effect, for so far the finely-tempered steel resisted even these armour-piercing bullets.
The watchers down below trembled with rage–all save the German–when they saw this fearful waste of markmanship, but up there, calm and collected, the British pilot clenched his teeth and muttered:–
"I must find his dead angle! I will attack him from below."
Then followed a series of thrilling manoeuvres, in which the daring skill of the Englishman alone saved him from his too-powerful opponent. The Scorpion, using its superior speed, made a desperate effort to sit upon its opponent's tail, a deadly position if it could only be attained. But, looping, banking, sideslipping and occasionally spinning, the Bristol out-manoeuvred its enemy every time.
"Shade of Richthofen!" exclaimed the infuriated Spitzer; "but this verdammtBritisher is some pilot."
Carl had become nervous and agitated at the gun, and his shooting had begun to annoy his leader, who shouted angrily, "Let Max take the gun, dachshund!"
But Max was huddled up in the bottom of the cockpit with an English bullet through his head; he had fired his last shot.
"Blitz! Here he comes again!" shouted the German pilot, as his opponent in the roaring Bristol, with engine full out, made as though he would ram his enemy in mid-air, though such was not his intention.
"Himmel, what does he mean?" yelled Spitzer, as he also opened out to avert the threatened collision, then pulled over the controls, stalled his machine, and attempted a vertical climb.
"Thanks be!" muttered Keane, for this gave him just the opportunity he sought. For two brief seconds the nether part of the fuselage, the only weak spot in the Scorpion, was exposed, and with a quick eye and unerring aim the British pilot poured a short burst into the very vitals of his enemy, then dived for safety.
It was the end of the fight, for the armour-piercing bullets ripped through the softer, thinner steel of its victim, passed through the chamber where the high-pressure cylinders which contained the uranis were kept, and weakened or cracked one of those deadly things, which were at once both the strength and the weakness of the Scorpion--the only thing, as her pilot once said, that its crew need fear.
Down, down sped the Bristol, as though conscious of the terrible catastrophe which would shortly follow. It was well that she did, for, ten seconds later, it seemed as if the end of the world had suddenly come.
Even while the Scorpion was poised in mid-air, in the very act of her last vertical climb, with nose pointed to the skies, the frightful explosion occurred. The terrified onlookers threw themselves flat upon the ground, but even the earth rocked, and huge trees of the forest were uprooted. It was as though the mighty concussion had veritably blown a hole hi the universe. The Scorpion, with all her crew, disappeared as if by magic, blown into ten thousand fragments, and scattered like blazing meteors to the very extremities of the Schwarzwald, while the British aeroplane did not escape but crashed to earth, with its unconscious pilot still firmly holding the controls.
Thus did the Scorpion meet her end, after all the vaunted pride and skill of her founders. In that place where she was born, there also did she come to an inglorious end, in the very presence of the evil-minded genius who had designed her. Even the dying German professor at last saw the error of his ways, and wished, in his latest hours, that his energy and skill had been devoted to a purpose more lofty and humane.
The great shock of that mighty explosion was felt for a hundred miles and more. In far distant lands the seismographic instruments recorded its effects. Some said that a great earthquake had occurred in central Europe, but the Allied Command on the Rhine thought that some mighty secret ammunition dump in the Schwarzwald had been accidentally destroyed, and they sent assistance in every shape and form. And the first to arrive were the aerial patrols, with medicines and supplies, for the survivors on that blackened, devastated aerodrome.
The unconscious pilot was extricated from the wreckage of the Bristol Fighter, and after months of careful nursing he was restored to convalescence, but he will never fly again. For his daring deed, he was honoured by his country, and decorated by his King. Sharpe, Hooper and Captain Watson, though severely wounded, recovered from their injuries. Professor Verne had a miraculous escape from death when the brigands bombed the hangar, and Colonel Tempest–though for the rest of his days he will limp with the aid of a stick–was mighty glad to lay down his high office with a reputation untarnished, and with the added honour of a knighthood, and a substantial pension.
It now but remains to tell what happened to that brilliant but misguided German, the renowned Professor Rudolf Weissmann. He lingered for another day after the terrible event which had befallen his fortune, and his friend Sir Joseph Verne, constant as ever, waited beside him and tended him amid his sufferings, for there is a wonderful spirit of brotherhood and fraternity amongst men of learning. They are the children of no particular country, for their parish is the world, and, like our own Shakespeare, the whole earth claims them for its own.
And when he saw that the time of his departure was at hand, this erring genius no longer tried to withhold from the world the great secret which he held, but, desiring to make what amends he could for the evil he had wrought, he freely offered to reveal the secret to his old time friend and fellow-student.
But, alas, he had left it too long. The candle of life was flickering within him, and the end was too near. Even while, with true repentance, he endeavoured to give the hidden formula of the mysterious uranis to his friend, he fell back exhausted and his spirit fled.
So the wonderful secret was never revealed, for it lies buried deep in a thousand fragments, amid the dark recesses of the Schwarzwald. But Hans, the clock maker, and his friend Jacob Stendahl the wood cutter, and many more beside, who dwell amid the legend and folklore of the Black Forest, still assert that at certain times, especially when the full round moon casts its silvery light over the Schwarzwald, the peasant who treads these lonely paths may see the phantom airman on his ghostly 'plane.
* * * * *
As for Gadget, the little urchin of a stowaway, the sharp-witted, up-to-date cabin boy who photographed the raider in mid-air, and rendered such valuable service to the authorities, he was duly rewarded. The Commissioner of Aerial Police pinned a gold medal on to his little tunic, soon after the great air-liner returned to London, and even delivered a speech in his honour, congratulating him upon his resourcefulness and courage.
He is no longer a street arab, for Captain Watson has adopted him, and sent him to a preparatory school, where he is pursuing a useful course of studies. But, when the long summer holidays arrive, you will find Gadget, dressed in a smart little uniform, with plenty of gold braid about his cap and tunic, standing beside the captain or the chief officer, in the navigating gondola of the Empress of India. All who know him speak highly of him. And there are even those who believe that this little, mischievous, up-to-date cabin boy and erstwhile stowaway will one day be one of out great air-skippers.