Claude Grahame-White 1915 Fiction

Whilst looking for something else I came across this in the OAMARU MAIL newspaper from New Zealand dated 9th of January 1915. I was not aware that Claude Grahame-White was an author, and I think maybe others here would enjoy a read too.

FIGHTING SEA-PLANE No. 9.

(By Claude Grahame-White.)

Her crew was small, but what it lacked in numbers it made up for in spirit and in sheer enthusiasm. There was Herring, her pilot—or, as his friends called him, “the man at the wheel.” Tall and fair, he had a sparkle in his eyes that even the most vicious of wind-gusts, smiting at him unawares, could not for more than a moment dim. Then there was Grant, a proud man, and with reason, for was he not one of the first, and also one of the most expert, of those who had learned to handle a machine-gun from an aeroplane’s bow. Right out in front of Sea-plane 9, in a little cockpit of his own, sat Grant; and just before his seat, swivelling in all directions, was the trim and wicked gun—a gun that would cough out death with a rattle in its throat. Hound-faced and chubby was Grant, with a cheerful laugh and a contented mind.

Not to be forgotten was Hetherington — the wireless man; rather a sober fellow he, in comparison with such optimists as Herring and Grant; but with a quiet sense of humor none the less, and an absorbing interest in the mechanism he controlled. In the centre of the sea-plane’s tapering hull, with the shadow of the upper plane above his head, Hetherington had his kingdom; and nobody, under pain of fearful penalties, must touch or meddle with his strange devices. “How’s the old bag of tricks this morning?” Grant would ask him, with a disrespectful but cheery grin. And Hetherington would smile slowly, and glance up from his low seat amidships; and then, a moment later, he would be engrossed again with his delicate machinery. Hetherington was a person of importance; it was he who, with the sea-plane jumping and rolling in a squall, would tap out messages into the empty air and talk, as by a miracle, with some land station 50 miles away.

Finally, there was Bland — Artificer Bland; a simple, reserved man, whose main interests in life were the two motors, each developing its 120 horsepower, which he tended in a cramped little engine room at the rear of the sea-plane’s hull—and with nothing between him and sheer space but the racing and whirling of the propeller. Did anyone in the Naval Flying Reserve know more about motors than Bland? It was unlikely. He had served an apprenticeship that was arduous and long: engines of many makes, and with queer internal ailments, had passed through his hands: and he had pulled them to pieces and performed daring operations upon them, until there was no part of their mechanism with which he was not familiar. Bland would sit and listen to his big motors, as they revolved at 1000 or more turns a minute and so sensitive was his ear that, should a valve be giving trouble or a cylinder missing fire, he was aware of the fact, instantly, and able to locate the defect.

A small crew, it knew every detail of its work, and was as keen as a crew could he: but just now as the four walked together through the narrow streets of Dover, on their way to the air station, there was a grave expression upon their faces. And what they talked of was the crisis in Europe which, growing from a cloud no bigger than a man’s hand, was now shrieking at England from the placards and threatening at any moment to develop into war. “We have had these scares before, of course”, said Giant, filling a pipe sagely, “and this may burst like a bubble by tomorow morning.”

“And if it doesn’t —?” queried Hetherington, with a thoughtful look; and then he paused. “And if it doesn’t,” went on Grant, finishing the sentence for him, “it may mean that my pop-gun will have its casing off in earnest; and then, well, we shall see. How can one calculate what will happen in the air?”

They reached the station and were moving through to the officers’ mess, while Bland went on down to the sheds, when Curtis, the surgeon, rushed towards them. He was waving a sheet of paper in his hand, and his face and manner were hardly those of a sane man.

“What on earth’s the matter. Doc?” cried Grant’. The doctor’s eye rolled; he fluttered the paper like one who strove for breath, he gasped out two words; “It’s war!” . The three stopped short like shot men. Crisis or no crisis, they had none of them expected this; and Herring seized the doctor’s code message, with amazement upon his face. But there was no mistake. War it was. Politics were swept aside now; polite phrases had lost their value; the grim, lean dog had broken his chain, and Europe was to be plunged into war.

But it was no large issues that Herring thought. His mind ran, like a flash, to Sea-plane 9. Here was work at last. — great work perhaps. Who could tell? And while he thought there came a hasty step, and the mess-room door was flung open, wide. Commander Henson it was who hurried through, and his face lit up when he saw the aircraft’s crew.

“You’re wanted, you chaps,” he said. “Every machine except Nine has left in the last hour for Harwich but you’re to patrol the Straits and report here by wiretaps. Fill her up with petrol as full as she’ll go and stay out as long as you can.”

“Then it’s war all right?” questioned Grant.

“War. my son, it is — a big, ugly war. A German Zeppelin—in the North Sea, I believe the message said—has dropped a bomb on one of our destroyers already and broken her back; and the fleets will be at it before long — hammer and tongs. War, by Jove, yes!”

“And if we come across a blunt-nosed Zeppelin browsing about in the Channel –?”

Grant did not finish his question. A glitter came into the Commander’s eye.

“If such luck is yours, my boy,” he said, “well —all I wish is that I could be with you.”

Chapter II
It was a queer night, with a drizzle of rain and wind that rose and fell in uneasy sighs; and here and there the moon filtered through and lit up a patch of sea. It was the sort of night upon which an aircraft, even heavily, built and fast in flight, would roll and swing awkwardly.

In the shadow of Sea-plane 9, working by the light of an acetylene flare, her crew of four were busy. There were many little things to be done, and not one of them must be forgotten: but soon her tanks were full, and Bland, alter listening for a moment to the drone of the motors, declared they were all right and that she might be lowered down her slip. So along this slipway, upon her polished floats, the aircraft moved and took the dark waters of the harbors with easy grace.

“All aboard,” said Herring, climbing to his wheel and levers in the bow, just behind the seat where Grant sat already with the gun. Then Hetherington and Bland stepped from the slip to the aircraft — the former after a last word with the operator who, on duty at the station, would be waiting for messages from out of the night.

The launching had been as methodical as for an ordinary practice flight. There was nothing to suggest war or any grim work ahead; and yet in the minds of that crew of four, ’embarking so quietly for a rush through the’ night, there lingered no illusion: long had they discussed fighting in the air; and to its risks not one of them was blind.

But now the motors spoke with a louder note; and the sea-plane, throwing spray from her floats that flickered in the darkness, moved from the slip and was lost to view. Across the harbor she rushed, gathering speed: then Herring drawing towards him his elevator lever, lifted the machine from the water into the air. She climbed quickly outwards, towards the Channel; and the shore lights of Dover swept astern.

”Patrol the Straits till dawn; that’s the idea,’ called Herring to Grant, and the latter turned behind his wind screen to reply:

“Right ho, old man! But it’ll be dull unless we run across something worth seeing. What’s the odds about a Zeppelin blundering up the neck of the Channel?”

“Sporting chance, I think,” answered Herring.

Still outwards and upwards drove Seaplane 9. Herring switched on the electric light, by which he could read his instruments, and saw their height was now two thousand feet. Dover lay behind —a smudge of lights; below and in front was a dark, empty void and the choppy wind of the Channel striking the planes now here, now there, made the aircraft heel and labor as she was thrust forward by her motors.

Tap-tap! Crackle! Rap-tap-tap! Above the hum of the well-silenced engines could be heard Hetherington’s wireless. Bending low within the hull, out of the rush of the wind, he was sending a test message through to Dover. A little table, mounted upon springs to deaden the vibration, was fixed before his seat; and upon it was his transmitting key and a pad of paper and a pencil: while just above him, throwing a ghastly white light upon his work, shone an electric lamp. Next Hetherington, towards the stern, crouched the motionless figure of Bland lost to all save the care of his engines, which were well warmed to their work and developing power with a smooth rhythm of sound.

Now Herring spun his rudder-wheel and the seaplane, banking heavily and diving under the influence of a sudden gust, sped down Channel in the direction of Folkstone. A rain squall lashed at them and Grant —out in the forefront- of the hull—cringed behind his screen.

The pilot glanced again at his dials. The attitude metre registered 3000 feet, and they were driving ahead at 70 miles an hour —albeit with a sideway roll that to any but an expert crew would have appeared perilous. Nothing was to be seen but the distant shore lights; and even these, when they plunged into a sea of clammy mist, were temporarily lost to view. Herring, in disgust, spun his steering wheel again and altered their course; and now they bored their way out toward mid-Channel. The wind seemed easier, but the mist was troublesome, lying in banks and patches, with moonlit spaces intervening, in and out of which the sea-plane flitted. Grant, who acted as observer when his gun was not required, tried to see what lay ahead —his eyes just above the level of his screen. But accurate observation, in such will-o’-the-wisp darkness, seemed impossible; and he turned presently to Herring.

“Confound this mist.” he cried. “It plies itself up in all sorts of funny shapes. Enough to give one the jumps, it is. If I were you, Herring. I’d — ”

Grant never finished the sentence because Herring, releasing one hand from the steering wheel, seized his arm in a grip of steel and swung him round so that he looked again ahead.

The sea-plane had in its swiftly flown course, shot out suddenly into a clear moonlit sky. Above, faintly shining, were the stars; dead ahead of them lay another bank of mist. and from behind this screen, silently and deliberately, the bow of an airship was beginning to force its way!

The surprise was complete. Grant, seeing what Herring had seen, drew in his breath with a gasp: and for a fraction of a second the seaplane, driving unchecked, devoured the distance that lay between her and the other craft. Then Herring woke to action.

“We’ll climb.” he shouted to Grant. “If I drive her up as steeply as she’ll go, they may just miss seeing us from their fore-car.”

Grant nodded his head, his eyes riveted upon the unwieldy monster, which, its engines at half-speed, was uncovering itself slowly from the sheltering mist.

Obedient to Herring’s tug upon-the elevating lever, the bow of the seaplane leaped skyward, and with a jerk that threw Hetherington partly from his seat. Looking forward in surprise, he saw for the first time what the pilot and observer had seen; his mouth framed itself to a silent whistle, then he tapped Bland’s arm.

But now Grant, peering sideways round the abruptly-rising bow, saw the fore-car of the airship clear itself from the mist; and so close were they to the leviathan, and so clear was this patch of moonlit sky. that he could just distinguish the shapes of those who stood within the car. ‘”No good, old man,” he called to Herring; “they’re bound to see us.” And, even as he spoke, the matter was placed beyond doubt. There was a movement among the figures aboard the airship; then two spluttering jets of flame burst suddenly front her fore-car, and there sounded a harsh rattle through the night air.

“That settles it,” cried Herring, with grim quietness.

Grant swung round, to him. “German Zeppelin—-certain.” he called. “Recognised us by the set of our planes, and opened fire without a by-your-leave; but she hasn’t our range.”

“And isn’t likely to get it,” answered Herring; “not just yet, anyhow.”

With her engines at their maximum power, the sea-plane whirled up through the air, and in a moment or so, unscathed, they flew above the airship’s hull, and out of range of the guns in her fore-car.

“They’ve a gun on their’ top platform, perhaps,” said Grant, warningly.

“All right, old man,” answered Herring. “I haven’t forgotten that; but before they can get a gunner to it, we’ll be out of sight in that mist ahead.”

Up the sea-plane rushed —at an angle Herring would not have dared in peace manoeuvres; up and above the airship she thrust her way; and then sped like a shadow into the mist, and was lost to view.

“What now?” called Grant.

“Chance of our lives, old man, answered Herring, a ring in his voice. “Get that pop gun ready,”

“She’s ready—and waiting, came the reply.

“Right ho,” said Herring, with a smile. “Then we’ll try our lumbering friend with attack No. 1.” Grant nodded quickly and turned to his machine gun, while Herring, leaning towards Hetherington, called to him the outlines of his plan. Hetherington voiced a quick assent; then he tapped an urgent message to Dover, telling of the airship they had sighted and of her fire upon them.

Herring meanwhile swung the seaplane round, and followed in the wake of the airship, still climbing rapidly. For many months, during their period of training, the crew of Sea-plane 9 had talked of what they should do, were they ever to attack an airship; and as they had discussed details, and endeavored to meet difficulties, they had evolved a series of movements which they had styled attacking-plans 1, 2 and 3. And it was attack No. 1, aiming at a bold coup, that Herring intended to put into operation.

Still ascending, till he knew he must be high above the airships hull he signalled to Bland to slow down his motors. As their speed dropped, they ran again into clear air; and Grant, with his eyes turned anxiously downward, saw the long grey shape of the enemy — like some gigantic pencil suspended in the sky — almost directly beneath them. He turned to Herring, but the pilot, had seen the airship too, and gave a quick nod of the head, signalling to Bland for full power.

The sea-plane leaped ahead, still rising and the airship in a minute or so, lay astern and far below. Back from time to time glanced Herring, as though calculating the distance that between them and their foe; and then suddenly as though satisfied, he signalled Bland to shut off his motors; and as the hum of power died away, he dived his craft seaward in a plunge so steep that it seemed almost vertical. Grant , throwing himself back in his seat and wedging his feet against the floor boards, looked sheer down, through some 5000 feet of space, and saw the waves of the Channel heaving coldly under the light of the moon.

Down the aircraft planed, or rather fell like a bird to its prey. Her engines were quiet, but the wind rushed through her struts and wires; and now even while she dived she began to swing round—round until a half-circle had been made, and she faced the airship, which flew beneath, the latter, still far astern and a long way below, had increased her speed, and was pushing up her bow to rise; and so she looked to Grant, who peered directly upon her, like a giant caterpillar which was raising its head to the sky.

Down, with a wail and a whistle of wind, dived the sea-plane; and as she plunged towards her bulky foe —Herring still crouching tense at his levers—Grant swung death’s gun and sat wide-eyed and alert. Every second had its value; were to do what they planned each mind and hand must act with lightning now.

While Grant watched the airship across the shortening gap of moonlight, he distinguished a small railed platform on top of her hull; and upon this platform, his keen eyes told him, tiny shapes were busy round all object that reared itself skyward.

“Look out!” he called to Herring. The gun was fired almost as he spoke stabbing the night with its jets of whitey-red flame. But the sea-plane sued unhurt. Like a faint grey shadow she fell towards her foe. and no gunner who was human could have honed to hit a target such as this. As she whirled down, disdaining the splutterings of the gun below, Herring leaned forward in his driving-seat, measuring with his eye the space between the craft. Steeper for a moment or so he made the dive: then he steadied the seaplane a little in her plunge; and as he did so he called to Grant.

“Now, old man —lively!”

Grant, crouching behind his gun, lifted one hand in token that he heard; and in a second or so the work was done.

But it was a second or so of fighting such as men had not known before. Checked in the steepness of her glide, but still sweeping swiftly forward, the aeroplane bore directly upon her foe; and Grant, the instant he could see below the airship’s protecting bow and go cover the cars which carried her machinery and crew, set his gun to work and pumped out a vicious stream of lead. Almost at the same moment that he opened his fire the gunners in the fore-car of the airship, seeing their opponent clearly for the first time, set up a clattering’ din with two machine-guns and another heavier weapon-which threw an explosive shell. So, for the space of a few heart-beats, both craft blazed at each other—a shattering, murderous fusillade. But it was the sea-plane’s fire which first told its tale. Herring, peering over Grant’s lowered shoulders, saw the gearing of one of the forward propellers of the airship collapse in a tangle of twisted tubes; and even while he watched, the second of her two bow screws, fixed upon the opposite side-of the hull, seemed to tear itself from its bearings, hanging by the car in a ruin of buckled rods.

Herring smiled—a grim little smile. This havoc by Grant’s gun was no surprise to him. Many times, in all its details, had such an attack been planned by the crew of Sea-plane 9. The smile next instant was swept from Herring’s face. There came a crash and a roar beneath the sea-plane’s keel; she swung suddenly sideways: and, from some part of her structure, sounded a ripping and rending of rods and stays. Further she lurched, as though reeling from a blow; and Herring had to throw his rudder hard round with a movement that was instinctive to prevent it from rolling right over upon her side.

So for another fraction of a second, they seemed to hang, the airship’s cars spouting flames at them; and then, diving and swerving, the sea-plane swept down beneath their foe and out of the range of the murderous guns.

Grant’s voice was heard first. He bent anxiously over the side of the hull and then shouted back in Herring. “They’ve hit one of our floats and broken something, I think; but that seems the worst of it.”‘

“Right ho!” called hack Herring coolly. “‘She’s quite controllable still, although she seems to want to fly like a crab. And now for round two. You did fine, old man.”

“Thanks,” said Grant simply, and bent again towards his gun. Herring steadied his craft’s dive and brought her up on an even keel; then he signalled to Bland to start the engines; and, directly the machine was under power again he wheeled her round and began to climb. Up leaped the sea-plane and regained the level or her foe, being now far in her rear. But, as he rose, Herring noticed that the airship was ascending too.

“She’s trying to shake us off by getting rid of her water-ballast,” he called to Grant, and then added: “But we’ll finish the game before it’s a question of altitude.”

Again Grant nodded, his eye upon the airship, which had re-opened fire with her machine-guns, although the sea-plane was obviously out of range. Herring, having risen to a sufficient height, swept wide in a sideway turn, and drove ahead till he flew level with his adversary. Then he threw over his rudder suddenly and darted in upon her, his motors at their fullest power. Like a dragonfly, the sea-plane whirled upon her bulky enemy; it was a swift blow and a desperate one, and relied for its success upon the sheer speed of its making.

Grant, behind his gun, threw out a jet of lead into the centre of the airship’s hull, ripping a gash in her outer sheathing and breaking slender rods inside. Here again was he putting theory into practice; and, just as he had concentrated upon her propellers, so now did he pour his fire into one vital section of her hull.

On, like a pygmy fighting a giant. did the sea-plane rush; and, us she came, she met a broadside from her planes and shrieked past the armoured bow of the hull: but still like a thing of life, she sped relentlessly towards her foe. A shell burst above her with a crash ; but the aim was faulty, and it did no more than make her plunge for a moment and falter in her flight. And, to confuse the enemy’s marksmen in their aim, Herring swerved the seaplane as she flew, now to one side and now to the other; then, following a succession of these quick lurches, he would hold her rock steady for an instant, so that Grant might ply his gun.

But now, from one of the machine-guns upon the rear-car of the airship, came a sudden rattle of shot among the petrol and oil tanks above Bland’s head. Instinctively, to see that none of the feed tubes to the motors had been severed, the engineer sprang to his feet; and as he did so, Hetherington saw his body jerk convulsively and his hands grope towards the nearest stay. But they closed upon empty air, and, toppling sideways before Hetherington could reach him, Bland reeled against the framework of the hull, and stood thus for a second: then he pitched over backwards and fell from sight—down through 3000 ft of space to meet death—were he not already dead—in the coldly-heaving waters of the Channel. Hetherington sank back in his seat: he was convulsed by a shudder. This was war —actual war.

But ahead of him, in the smother and splatter of the gun, bending tense at their posts, neither Herring nor Grant was conscious of the tragedy that had happened within three paces of them: and the two big motors, although robbed of their guardian, still sent out their hum of power. The tanks above them, being armored, had resisted the penetration of the shot, and none of the feed tubes had been cut.

But of the next few seconds who can write? That the seaplane still flew was in itself a miracle. Guns roared at her; shot and shell shrieked and whistled past her; but on she came — the very swiftness of her onset, and her erratic swings and darts from side to side, proving her salvation. And. while she bored her way in, Grant was busy with his gun; steadily he played his fire upon the enemy’s hull; and now this concentration began to tell its tale. Two of her gas-containing balloonets had burst and lost their contents, and the gash in her side was beginning to weaken the rigidity of the airship’s hull.

On, as though she meant to transfix the dirigible with her armored bow, sped the aeroplane; another second or so passed with a fierce clamor of guns; and then, with an abrupt throwing forward of its elevating lever. Herring dived his craft. Down she slid, like a silver-grey arrow — down so suddenly and steeply that she seemed to those on the airship to fall sheer from view; down, until she sped at 100 miles an hour beneath her enemy’s keel.

But, even as she began thus to dive, Herring felt a jerk and a jar upon the wheel in his hands; and a moment or so later, when he sought to steady his craft from a sideways roll, he found that his balancing planes, away out at the top of the main wings, were no longer operative.

“The control wires have been shot through,” he told himself; then, as an afterthought: “I must steady her as well as I can with movements of the rudder.”

He pushed the rudder over, ‘but the sea-plane responded sluggishly; she was nearly out of hand now, and yawed and veered as she flow: Herring set his teeth, and worked grimly at his controls, and then, a moment later, his attention was distracted by a cry from Grant.

Just as they had dived beneath her, there had sounded an ominous grating and rending from the airship above: and now, as Grant and Herring flung a glance backward, her great length of hull began to kink and sag inwards helplessly and drifted into the wind; and then, as they watched her, she began to sink away seaward —stricken, helpless, and beyond control.

“Grant,” cried Herring, “you’re a dandy with that gun.” And, as he spoke, he jerked round his rudder with a sudden shout and wheeled the crippled sea-plane almost in her length; for out of the bank of mist just in front of them, and driving ahead at full speed, came the long grey hull of a second Zeppelin!

“Jove” rasped Grant; and then Herring called again.

“We’re not gluttons, are we?” he asked with another of his crooked smiles; “we know when we’ve had enough; and one airship, for to-night, is about as much as we can manage.”

So, limping through the air, but still flying gamely, Sea-plane 9 slid off into the mist and vanished on her way towards the English coast.

Commander Hanson it was who sighted her just as she stoic in towards the dawn. She was expected:—eagerly awaited; for Hetherington’s wireless had been at work and—albeit laconically and without verbiage—he had tanned the outline of the tale, doing so with difficulty, however, as his labors had to be divided between his transmitting key and the now untended motors. Down the sea-plane glided towards tho motor-boat that awaited her; and those who watched her saw that she flew with a heavy list. Then, striking the water clumsily, owing to her damaged float, she turned half over and began to sink. But there were willing hands ready; and her crew were drawn to safety and quickly brought ashore.

The Commander met them on the slipways. “Boys!” he said—all official reserve gone-—”Boys!” It’s first blood! I’ve heard from Harwich not ten minutes ago; and the best their machines have done during the night is to report the movements of one of the enemy’s squadrons. First blood, it is for us — first blood in the air!” Herring nodded and shook hands; but his eyes were clouded. “Poor old Bland!” was all he could say. “Poor old Bland!”

——————————–
The original is here https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/OAM19150109.2.55.3?end_date=09-01-1915&query=sea-plane&start_date=09-01-1915