When our Aviator Boys had been crowded into small space aboard the German seaplane, the big flyer cut through the mist at top speed. The capture of the young airmen had been but an incident; an accident, indeed. The German aviators were playing a bigger game. The boys heard the man called Franz jesting with his comrades about something that was going to spit fire like a volcano upon the English. Henri, in soft aside tones, let Billy know what it was all about, for Billy was as short in German as he was in the French language. [202]
The seaplane gunner (they called him Joseph), when the machine soared above the mist line, kept a sharp lookout through field glasses for some expected coming over the sea.
The boys could see, now that it was clearing to the north, the familiar trend of the English coast.
“They’re up to something, that’s sure,” whispered Henri to Billy; “but what it is I haven’t the least idea.”
“I don’t see any bombs in this craft, so it can’t be anything like a blow-up from above,” was Billy’s whispered reply.
“Hold your mouths,” growled the giant pilot.
Henri put a warning finger on his lips, glancing at Billy.
Gunner Joseph had evidently sighted the something for which he had been looking, for he made a rapid motion with a hand behind him, which the pilot evidently understood, for he immediately changed the direct northerly course of the seaplane sharply to the northeast.
Now visible to the naked eye was a fleet of cruisers, under full head of steam, and as they swiftly approached, the black cross in the flapping colors proclaimed the Kaiser’s warships.
Billy and Henri were astounded at the sight. A German fleet within easy shelling distance of the Yorkshire coast!
One of the cruisers turned broadside, and from[203] the armored hull belched smoke and flame. Looking down upon the town of Hartlepool, the boys saw buildings crumple like houses of cards before a gale. Other vessels of the war fleet followed the leader in broadsides, and every iron cast seemed to find a mark and exacted toll of death and destruction. The Hartlepools, Whitby, and Scarborough, places well known to the captive aviators, were under galling fire for an hour.
“They’re shooting a mile, but look how true they get the range,” remarked Billy in Henri’s nearest ear.
“Look!” Henri pointed to the land batteries, now spouting fiery responses.
The German fleet was speeding northward—the hovering seaplane giving signal that the British patrolling squadron was hastening to cut off the invading vessels. Now favored by the gathering mist in the northerly flight, the daring raiders made their escape, but it could be seen that one of the lighter cruisers was afire. The land batteries had evidently scored a target or two.
A guttural command from the man in the sea-plane’s bow, and the machine was set in the wake of the fleet, and with full power in the motors.
“How much of the oil feed have we?”
The gunner’s question was passed back from mouth to mouth to the engine man, for in the noises[204] of the high speed nothing else could be heard beyond a foot or two.
“Hundred miles or so,” was the answer of the engine man, passed forward.
“And nearly four hundred miles to Kiel,” muttered the gunner. “But the fleet will put us right,” he satisfied himself.
So they were bound for Kiel, and the boys did not know it until the seaplane settled among the German cruisers churning the waves in their race for home. With tanks refilled, the aircraft led the flight to Helgoland Bay.
While far in advance of the warships, the sea-plane drew the fire of an English submarine that suddenly rose from the depths of the sea. A figure jumped from the turret of the underwater craft, turned a lever, and the gun that was folded into the back of the submarine swung muzzle upward. Once, twice, thrice, the gun cracked, but every shot a miss.
The third shot, however, was a near one, for Billy and Henri, interested spectators from the steel gallery, heard the ball hiss in the passing.
The lookout man of the seaplane trailed a sig............