The Secret Battleplane Read online

  Produced by R. G. P. M. van Giesen

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  THE GREAT ADVENTURE SERIES

  Percy F. Westerman: THE AIRSHIP "GOLDEN HIND" TO THE FORE WITH THE TANKS THE SECRET BATTLEPLANE WILMSHURST OF THE FRONTIER FORCE

  Rowland Walker: THE PHANTOM AIRMAN DASTRAL OF THE FLYING CORPS DEVILLE MCKEENE: THE EXPLOITS OF THE MYSTERY AIRMAN BLAKE OF THE MERCHANT SERVICE BUCKLE OF SUBMARINE V 2 OSCAR DANBY, V.C.

  S. W. PARTRIDGE & CO.4, 5 & 6, SOHO SQUARE, LONDON, W.1.

  THE SECRET BATTLEPLANE

  "Blake released his grip of the rough-and-ready dart."--_Page_ 65.]

  THESECRET BATTLEPLANE

  BYPERCY F. WESTERMAN

  AUTHOR OF"THE RIVAL SUBMARINES," "A SUB. OF THE R.N.R.," ETC., ETC.

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  S. W. PARTRIDGE & Co.4, 5 & 6, SOHO SQUARE, LONDON, W.1

  MADE IN GREAT BRITAIN_First Published 1916__Frequently reprinted_

  CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. SNOWED UP II. A MYSTERIOUS BENEFACTOR III. THE WONDERS OF THE SECRET BATTLEPLANE IV. A TRIAL TRIP V. SO NEAR AND YET SO FAR VI. THE INTERRUPTED VIGIL VII. THE BATTLEPLANE'S OFFICIAL DEBUT VIII. A CROSS-CHANNEL FLIGHT IX. A FIGHT TO A FINISH X. TRICKED XI. THE FATE OF A SPY XII. SERGEANT O'RAFFERTY'S LUCKY BOMB XIII. THE FRONTIER XIV. ATHOL TACKLES VON SECKER XV. GAME TO THE LAST XVI. _À BERLIN_ XVII. DISABLED XVIII. TURNING THE TABLES XIX. A DUEL WITH A ZEPPELIN XX. LIBERATED XXI. ONE GOOD TURN DESERVES ANOTHER XXII. ALL GOES WELL WITH ENGLAND

  CHAPTER I

  SNOWED UP

  "THAT rotter of a garage fellow!" exclaimed Athol Hawke explosively."He hasn't done a thing to the wheel; and, what is more, he rushedme sixpence for garaging the bike, the young swindler."

  "Didn't you go for him?" enquired his chum, Dick Tracey.

  "He wasn't there to go for," replied Athol. "He was away on somejob, and left the explanations to a youngster. But, my word, it issnowing! Think she'll stick it with that groggy wheel?"

  The scene was the Market Square, Shrewsbury. The time, nine o'clockon a Saturday morning, March, 1916. It was, as Athol remarked,snowing. A week or more of intermittent blizzards had culminated in asteady fall of large, crisp flakes, and judging by the direction ofthe wind, the heavy, dull-grey clouds and an erratic barometer, theworst was yet to come.

  Athol Hawke was a lad of seventeen, although he looked several yearsolder. He was tall, lightly yet firmly built, of bronzed complexion,grey eyes and with dark hair. The fact that he was wearing waterproofoveralls, leggings and fur gloves tended to conceal his build.

  His companion, who was similarly attired, was Athol's junior by theshort space of three days. In height he was five feet seven--fourinches less than that of his chum; build, thick-set; complexion mighthave been fair but exposure to wintry conditions had resulted in hisface being burnt to a reddish colour. His hair was light brown, witha tendency to crispness; his eyes blue. By disposition he wasremarkably bright and cheerful, characteristics that served as a foilto Hawke's almost invariable staidness.

  The two chums were riding a motor-bicycle and side-car. They had"been on the road" nearly a week. What possessed them to select atime of blizzard and equinoctial gales to go tearing across England;why they were apparently "joy-riding" in wartime; why they chose adistrict that was most decidedly within the region of activity ofhostile air-craft--all this will have to be explained in due course.

  At eleven o'clock on the previous day they had ridden into the quaintand picturesque old town of Shrewsbury, having left Chester shortlyafter daybreak. During the run they had made the disconcertingdiscovery that several of the spokes of the side-car wheel had workedloose, possibly owing to the drag of the snow and the atrocious"pot-holes" and setts of Lancashire. The wheel might last out tillthe end of their tour--and it might not. Dick suggested risking it,but the ever-cautious Athol demurred. They would remain atShrewsbury, he declared, until the following day and get the damagemade good.

  A motor mechanic had promised faithfully to carry out the job, andhad let them down badly.

  "Well, what's the programme?" asked Athol. "We may be able to pushon, but I guess it's pretty thick over the hills. Already there's agood two inches of snow--and it's still tumbling down."

  Dick surveyed his surroundings in his customary optimistic manner.The cobbled square was already hidden by a dazzling white mantle. Theroofs of the old buildings and the detached pillared market-housewere covered with fallen flakes. A weather-worn statue, poisedstolidly upon a lofty pedestal, was fast resembling the time-honouredcharacter of Father Christmas.

  Save for a few belated lady-clerks of the Army Pay Department, whocast curious glances at the two snow-flaked motor-cyclists as theyhastened to their daily toil, the square was deserted. At the cornerof an adjacent street two recruiting sergeants stood in meditativesilence, regarding with a set purpose the pair of strapping youths.

  "More of 'em, by Jove!" exclaimed Dick, as his eyes caught those ofone of the representatives of His Majesty's Army. "Here they come,old man. Stand by to give 'em five rounds rapid."

  "Nothin' doing, sergeant," announced Athol as the foremost non-com.,beaming affably, vouchsafed some remark about the weather as apreliminary feeler to a more important topic. His companion haddiplomatically "frozen on" to Dick.

  With a dexterity acquired by much practice each lad unbuttoned hismackintosh coat and from the inner breast pocket of his coat produceda formidable-looking document.

  "Bless my soul!" ejaculated the first sergeant. "Who'd a' thought it?Very good, sir; we can't touch you--at least, not yet. You neverknow."

  "You speak words of wisdom, sergeant," rejoined Athol, as he replacedhis paper. "Now, to get back to more immediate surroundings, what doyou think of our chances of getting to Ludlow to-day?"

  "On that thing?" asked the sergeant. "Not much. It's as thick as canbe over Wenlock Edge. This is nothing to what's it's like up there.You'd never get through."

  The word "never" put Dick on his mettle.

  "We'll have a jolly good shot at it, anyway," he said. "Come along,Athol, old man. Hop in and we'll have a shot at this Excelsiorbusiness."

  Athol Hawke would like to have lodged a protest. He was anxiousconcerning the groggy side-car wheel, but almost before he knew wherehe was, Dick Tracey had started the engine and the motor was swishingthrough the crisp, powdery snow.

  Down the steep Wyle Cop and across the narrow English Bridge theywent, then turning shook the snow of Shrewsbury from the wheels,since it was literally impossible to shake the dust from their feet.

  Mile after mile they reeled off, the road rising steadily the while.Tearing through the snow flakes was really exhilarating. The air waskeen and bracing; the scenery fairy-like in the garb of glitteringwhite.

  "Glad we pushed on," exclaimed Dick. "We're doing it on our heads,don't you know. The little beast of an engine is pulling splendidly."

  The words were hardly out of his mouth when there was a perceptibleslowing down of the three-wheeled vehicle, although the motorthrobbed with increasing rapidity.

  "Belt slipping," declared Athol laconically.

  "It's the leather one," said his companion as he stopped the engineand dismounted.

  "We'll shove the rubber one on. Leather always is rotten stuff toslip in the wet, and yet there's a proverb, 'There's nothing likeleather.'"

  "Doubt whether the other one will do any better," remarked Hawke."See, the lowermost part of the belt rim has been ploughing throughthe snow. This is the thickest we've had so far."

  "It is," assented Dick. "But we'll push on. It is a pity to turnback. We can't be so very far from Church Stretton now.
From thereit's downhill almost all the rest of the way."

  The change of belts was effected and the journey resumed. For thenext quarter of a mile progress was good, although great care had tobe exercised to avoid the snow-banks on either side of the road.

  Presently the road dipped with considerable steepness, and bending tothe right crossed a small bridge. Beyond, it again rose and withincreased gradient, and appeared to plunge directly between two loftyhills. The rising ground was thickly covered with pine trees, eachbranch bending under the weight of virgin snow.

  "Looks like a bit of Switzerland," observed Dick. "Hanged if I cansee why people want to go abroad to see scenery when there are placeslike this at home. But, my word, we've a stiff bit of road to tackle!Wonder if she'll do it?"

  "She's got to," said Athol grimly. He was one of those fellows whoembark upon an undertaking with evident misgivings, but when fairlyin the thick of it warm to their task and are undaunted in spite ofdifficulties and rebuffs.

  But there are limitations even to the capabilities of a three and ahalf horse power motor. Right nobly the engine did its work, but onceagain the belt slipped with exasperating loss of power. So deep wasthe snow at this point that the lower framework of the side-car wasploughing through it, while the heated crank case coming in directcontact with the snow was throwing off vapour like a high pressuresteam engine. To add to the difficulty an accumulation of compressedsnow had choked the front mudguard.

  "All alight here!" shouted Dick. "By Jove, we'll have to jolly wellpush up this hill."

  With the engine still running on low gear the lads literally puttheir shoulders to the wheel. It was hard work. In spite of thelowness of the temperature they were glowing with exertion, as, undertheir united efforts, they advanced at the rate of a mile an hour.

  "Jolly long way to the top," panted Dick. "Hope we don't get snowedup. I say, that looks cheerful."

  He pointed to a derelict motor car, almost hidden in a drift by theside of the road, where the bank of snow had risen to at least sevenfeet in height.

  "Can't be much farther to Church Stretton," said Athol encouragingly."Buck up, old man."

  For another fifty feet they struggled manfully, until Tracey switchedoff the motor and brought the bike to a standstill.

  "Spell-oh!" he announced, shaking the powdered snow from his cap."I've had enough for a bit."

  "If we stop we--like the drunken man--'goes over,'" declared Athol."Every minute things are getting worse."

  "Can't help it," rejoined Dick breathlessly. "Like the engine, I'mbadly overheated."

  For some moments the two chums stood still, taking in as much of thescenery as the snowstorm permitted, for so thick was the air withfalling flakes that they could form no idea of the height of thehills on either hand.

  Presently a horseman appeared, his mount floundering through thesnow. So narrow was the track that in order to pass the bike andside-car he had to plunge into the drift.

  "Pretty thick," remarked Athol.

  "Ay, that it is," replied the man. "An' it's worse up yonder."

  "Any village about here?" asked Dick.

  "Not for some miles," was the reply. "And not a house, if it comes tothat."

  The man rode on. He seemed loth to waste time in conversation.

  "We've struck the worst part of Wenlock Edge, it seems," said Atholconsulting his road map. "It would have paid us to have stuck to theSevern valley, only we both wanted to see Ludlow and its castle.Well, ready?"

  Dick nodded assent, and restarted the engine. Although the beltslipped frantically the slight friction of the pulley aided thebodily efforts of the lads. By dint of much exertion another hundredyards were covered; then despite their efforts they came to a deadstop.

  "How about turning back?" suggested Dick.

  "No good," decided Athol. "We might get to the bottom of thehill--might not. It's a moral cert we could not get up the rise onthe other side of the bridge."

  "And we can't leave the bike here," added his companion. "It wouldcompletely block the road."

  "The road is blocked already, I fancy. The plain fact is this: we'resnowed up, and what's more the side-car wheel has gone to pot atlast."